Affair of Pretense

Seventeen

On Saturday morning, a hired chaise, muddied by last night's rain, pulled in front of the Dresdenhams' townhouse at Bruton Street. A gentleman in brown greatcoat alighted, a portmanteau in one hand, tossed a guinea to the coachman and went for the front door. A footman hastened to relieve him of his luggage and his coat, but the reception was in no way remarkable due to the absence of the lord and the lady of the house. Nor did the the newcomer wish to attend his arrival with any such fuss as was due to the Firstborn Son.

He took his beaver hat off, revealing golden brown locks that fell longer than what was fashionable. A pair of lively blue eyes lit a slightly tanned but otherwise striking countenance, with a straight nose and a square chin. In all appearances, Mr Ian Dresdenham bore a dignified air of one who was given to a career of orderliness and precision, a thing most notably lacking in his otherwise frivolous brother, five years his junior. Not that he was thought to be dour; indeed, Mr Ian had his own humour and charm, evident by two intriguing dimples and an occasional twinkling of his eyes; and a steadiness of character that earned the adoration of his ceremonious parents. His figure was lean but muscular, his stature tall; and from what one could discover from the cut of his plain blue superfine coat, and a haphazardly tied cravat, a gentleman whose pretensions to fashion was as obscure as his presumption to his consequence.

Her ladyship's butler, Owen, quickly emerged into the hall and greeted the eldest Dresdenham with unconcealed pleasure. "Welcome home, Mr Ian, sir," he greeted.

"Owen, my man, have you gone balder than the last time I saw you?"

Accustomed to this sort of irreverence, the old retainer smiled. "I'm afraid so, Mr Ian. I trust your journey was tolerable?"

"Oh, damnable! It's jolly good to be home at last! Where's Mama and everyone?"

"Her ladyship is presently at the Montmaine House sir, in preparation for the ball which is tonight, and so is his lordship."

His eyes twinkled. "The devil! She could not have dragged Papa on such drudgery! Well, I suppose, she's giving it all for this ball. Botar la casa por la ventana, eh? And how did she persuade the old man to use Montmaine House, I couldn't even begin to imagine!"

Since Owen did not speak a word of Spanish, nor, in fact, any foreign words with the exception of bien and oui, he only gave his young master, whose skill for the language was due to years of participating in Peninsular War, an indulgent smile and informed him that everyone was kept occupied by the preparations, Miss Julia had jaunted out quite early to shop, and Mr Collin still abed, he imagined, and that they were currently entertaining a Special Guest.

Mr Ian, however, was already ascending the staircase, bent on filling his stomach than attending to his curiosity. "I should like to have my coffee first, of course, and a hearty breakfast of eggs and a devilish fine York ham, but I'm sure there's more — " he was arrested halfway, for on the top landing stood a young lady in a charming yellow muslin dress. Her red curls were tied loosely at the back to allow a few locks to escape on either side of a piquant face. Her limpid grey eyes held his with brimming curiosity. "Oh! Good morning!" she greeted, somewhat involuntarily, grasping at the bannister.

"Good morning," returned Mr Ian, bemused. He covered the rest of the stairs and stood beside her, propping his elbow on the bannister. "And who might you be? Do forgive me, I don't think we have met before? Are you the Special Guest Owen spoke about?"

"Yes," she replied, and added shyly, "My name is Georgie Devilliers. You must be Cousin Ian."

"Cousin?" he echoed and threw a perplexed look at Owen for some enlightenment. Since the butler vouchsafed no explanation and only bowed and slipped away quietly, Ian said with candour, "Pray, enlighten me, ma'am, because the last time I check, I have no relative of such name."